A Cook of Ice and Fire
by ViciousVigilante
Summary: I was suprised to see that there was no decent "Walter White to Westeros" crossover. I've just finished Breaking Bad and really adore both the show and the ASOIAF books. Expect Walter White and his nemesis to clash with the best players of the Game of Thrones. Will try to update regularly. Rated M to be on the safe side
1. Chapter 1

Secretariat of inter-universe affairs

Fictional world management division

"Second Chance" project team

Internal memo on BB-62

Comprehensive primary character analysis has shown excellent performance. Inclusion in "Second Chance" project recommended. Development advises utilizing copy-splice technique. Further research into splice details currently underway. Authorization pending.

Wish them luck. This time.

Walter I

The pain in his gut was excruciating.

"Damn it! Why do I have to stay alive? Why can't everything go as planned?" – Walt felt tears well up in his eyes. "My family… They don't need me alive – not now… And they are coming to get me… The sirens…"

Walt froze. Not a sound came outside Todd's lab – except for a faint chirping of birds. Then he noticed something else.

A streak of sunlight was coming from under the doors.

"How long have I been out?" – he thought almost idly. "And why the hell didn't the cops arrive?"

All of this was absurdly impossible. And yet, he was there. So when the pain finally subsided and no blood colored his fingers as he held them to his side, Walter White wasn't surprised at all.

"A hallucination, that's what it is. I'm dying of bloodloss. Thanks god it's so… peaceful. Might as well stand up."

The garage door felt cold and rugged under his fingers. If this was indeed a hallucination, then a very vivid one. Better than Jesse's video games.

It was when he crawled out of the garage door when he lost his thoughts.

The view around the warehouse was nothing like this remote Albuquerque district. Nothing like any place in the Southwest, for that matter. No meadows like that in New Mexico. And sure as hell no cow dung – Walt cursed under his breath, wiping his foot against the rich grass. Only then he felt a whiff of smoke.

Still bewildered, he turned his head to see a small grove of what looked like oak – and his last car smashed against one of those. Just then a lean figure crawled out of that one.

\- Jesse! – Walter cried out before he thought anything.

Pinkman turned, his painfully hateful look seen even so far from here. Soon, however, he seemed just as bewildered, mouth agape. Finally he strode to the warehouse with unsure steps of a man being shackled for too long.

\- Is this like… heaven? – he asked no one in particular, staring into the distance.

\- If you ask me, it's much more likely for us to go to hell… if you believe in that sort of thing, at least. – Walter muttered absent-mindedly.

Jesse's bearded face turned from amazed to frightened in a second.

\- Someone's coming, Mr. White! – he exclaimed warily.

Walt followed his gaze and immediately wished he had at least that pistol of his. All the guns appeared to have been left in Jack Welker's "office", now apparently gone. Hiding was out of the question, either – the two horsemen, looking right from a Renaissance fair of sorts, were almost upon them. He could make out the badges on their chainmail armor, showing a sheep with a golden cup on green.

\- Halt! – commanded one of them, sporting a thick black bush of a beard. – What business have you trespassing on the Stokeworth lands?

Jory I

\- Come on… er, officer, - the stocky bald man uttered finally. – There must be some huge mistake. I mean, we don't even know why we are here in the first place.

\- Or where "here" is. – added the bearded Dornishman, trying to crack an uneasy smile.

Jory made no effort to suppress the laugh. These two oafs even tried to change some of their clothes, but the black jackets were a dead giveaway.

\- Don't even think about fooling me. What else would a man from Dorne do so close to the Wall, if not run from the Watch? Deserters is who you are. Tomard, Varley, take them!

As a couple of Stark guardsmen dismounted to follow the order, the Dornishman jerked his hand to his hip. Tomard cursed and reached for his sword.

\- Chill, Gomie. I'm sure we can explain ourselves. Do you want to die once again so fast? – the bald one chuckled.

\- As you say, Hank. – "Gomie" – what kind of a name is that? – held out his hands for Tomard to tie with a rope. Jory let out a sigh of relief. At least they weren't bold enough to fight, even despite what awaited them.

\- Ride to Winterfell, - he commanded another guardsman, Alf, - and tell lord Stark we've got two deserters from the Night's Watch. The lord of the North will decide your fate, - he announced as the rider sped to the castle, barely visible on the horizon, - and you won't be pleased by his judgment, that I promise.


	2. Chapter 2

Walter 2

\- Look, we can't just go with you, - Walt protested, hobbling after the horse on the rope leash. – All our… belongings are in that house…

\- Don't you fret, the castle will send someone – the bearded rider retorted, not even turning his head back.

\- A castle, like, for real? – Jesse lifted his head, interested. – Is there a princess?

\- Lady Stokeworth's daughters are not for the likes of you, - his captor snapped. Jesse's head fell back.

Walter pitied him. Living as a slave for months – and now tied up once again… "Guess we'll have to set you free once more" – he muttered under his breath.

The rest of the way passed in relative silence. The two warriors seemed unbelievably dumb. Walt could not even get out of them whether they were in England – looked like they've never even heard of the word. Neither Northumbria nor Mercia rang a bell either. All he could find out was that the land around them belonged to some lady Stokeworth – and apparently she wouldn't take lightly to someone erecting a house on her property overnight.

\- What happened, Mr. White? Was it some kind of time travel? – Walter just sighed in response. If only he could answer that question… He could only hope that lady Stokeworth knew at least something more.

The castle didn't look particularly large. Any large mall in downtown Albuquerque would certainly be much bigger. It stood atop a flat hill, looming over what looked like a small town surrounded by a wooden palisade. Through the town ran a dirt road, an oxcart rolling melancholically towards the gate.

As they trotted through the dirty street leading to the castle, Walter couldn't help but think over his next move. "How do I present myself to a feudal lord… er, lady?" Based what he could recall from history lessons, a feudal had all the branches of power in his lands, holding life and death of his subjects in his power. Not unlike a cartel boss. Those, Walt knew from Hank's stories, were mean. And superstitious, he recalled.

\- Look, a church! – whispered Jesse, gesturing with his head. – Isn't it supposed to have, like, a cross on top? – sure enough, instead of a cross a star with seven points crowned the spire of a building with stained glass windows. Walter let out a desperate gasp.

\- It would have… - he whispered back, - if it were Earth.

\- They don't look like aliens to me… - Jesse shook his head.

\- Did I give you leave to talk? – he saw the bearded captor reach for his whip and knew better than to answer.

And then he knew what to do.

\- Jesse? – he whispered.

\- What?

\- Do you have a lighter?

The disgusting smells of a medieval town subsided somewhat inside the castle. A boy in rags ran up to the warriors' horses, leading them to a stable nearby. The castle didn't strike Walt as particularly rich – and neither was the hall in the main building they reached by climbing a flight of rather steep stone stairs. In fact, the Schwartzes' mansion would seem richer in comparison to the castle.

At a large oak dining table sat three women. The oldest, with cheeks, resembling a mastiff's, was probably the lady of the house, as she sat at the head of the table in an elaborately carved chair. On her right was a thin and pale woman, with fishy, bleak eyes, idly poking a piece of meat with her fork. The woman on the left seemed like she needed no fork, as she snatched a large piece of pork with both her fat hands, munching at eat like a starved beast. She seemed oblivious to the world around her.

\- Guess my princess is in another castle… - muttered Jesse with disgust.

\- Gwayne, what brings you to me at this hour? Can't you see we are eating? – asked Lady Stokeworth in an irritated voice.

\- Bow! – whispered the bearded warrior threateningly, as he and his companion did the same. Walt complied reluctantly.

\- M'lady, - Gwayne answered, as he stood up straight again, - we seized these two men on the field near the birch grove. - They were near a house, which I swear wasn't there a fortnight ago. They don't seem like they know this place, or where they are.

Lady Stokeworth nodded, and then gave Walt and Jesse a studying look.

\- So what brings you to our lands? – she finally inquired.

Jesse opened his mouth, ready to say something, but Walt elbowed him, cutting him short.

\- My lady, I'm a travelling magician and alchemist, hailing from the land of Albuqeurque many miles away, - he started the speech he'd been thinking over half the way. By the look of the lady, he certainly got her attention, so Walt continued.

\- Unfortunately, my last spell, devised to transport my laboratory through space, yielded unexpected results, so here I stand. And yet I've honed the skills of creating substances unknown to man, that might be of many uses. Here is a simple trick, just a snippet of what I can do, - he reached for the lighter.

As the flame flickered in his hand, both the Stokeworths and the guards looked in awe which seemed almost religious. And thus Walt saw that his plan worked – once again.

\- However, all my tools were left in the building as we were taken by your men… so if you'd be so kind as to bring them here…

\- Oh, that we will, my lord. – lady Stokeworth replied, still in a somewhat shaken tone. In the meantime, perhaps you'd care to join our meal?

Walt nodded. His mouth watered just by looking at the multitude of dishes, crowned by a well-roasted ping in the center of the table.

\- Ok, so what do we do now? – Jesse whispered as they walked to the table, now unchained.

\- The same as ever, Jesse, - replied Walt without a pause. – We cook.

Bran 1

As he slowly went up Winterfell's main tower, Bran has never before been gladder that he learned how to climb. As the deserters were led into father's solar, the inhabitants of Winterfell were left puzzled. After all, they – including Bran – had expected that those two men would lose their heads, as any oathbreaker should. And yet they were alive, and father received them almost as guests.

They were no deserters, Jon told him. Were there a Dornishman on the Wall, uncle Benjen would have told him. The last one to serve in the Night's Watch apparently was Qorgyle, the old lord commander before Jorah Mormont.

Bran stopped, resting at a mossy stone just below his father's window – large enough to put both his feet on. From here he could hear the strangers' voices perfectly, as well as his father's – the latter more surprised than Bran had ever known.

\- Do you mean your land has no king, – asked lord Stark, - and the smallfolk is allowed to select rulers among themselves?

\- Well, it's never that simple, - replied the bald one with a chuckle, - For one, you always need a lot of money to get elected.

\- Ah, so it's merchant princes who rule over you, like in the Free Cities?

\- Some say so, - replied the Dornish-looking one. – But mostly they just donate money, although there's always something in return.

\- It's complicated, - the bald one summed up, - but better than monarchy, if you ask me. I mean, no offense… - he added hastily.

\- I wonder what would come of a ruler that isn't blessed by the Gods… - pondered father.

\- Well, there's the pledge, the Bible and all… a holy book. – the bald one again.

The conversation paused, his father probably considering what he just heard. Bran clutched at the stones, even more curious than before.

\- So what was your trade back in your lands? – Lord Stark finally asked.

\- We were… policemen. – replied the bald one with another unknown word.

\- We fought crime. – explained the Dornish one.

\- So you were guards, right?

\- Well, not quite. I think what guards do is prevent crime from happening. We solved those that already were committed, to put the criminals into jail.

\- Have you ever killed a criminal? – Bran asked, popping his head into the window frame. And just as he saw the foreigners looking at him in astonishment, he felt that his hands were about to slip. Cursing himself for curiosity, he reached desperately a stone in the frame, felt his fingers slowly slip…

And right then he felt an iron grip on his hand, as father pulled him into the room. Then his head rang of a thump – something father did quite rarely. This time, however, Bran didn't cry, turning red as beetroot instead.

\- What has mother told you about climbing? – Lord Stark inquired angrily. As he got no response, he continued.

\- Go into your room – and don't expect any biscuits for supper. Excuse my son's behavior, - he turned to the foreigners, who were still standing there in bewilderment. – I give you leave to go. You may stay with the guards before supper – I'm sure you have a lot to tell each other.


End file.
